The Price of Salvation
by TheAnyKey
Summary: After the fall of Dalaran, a young man sets out to begin anew in a strange, seemingly hostile world. Can he overcome the forces that threaten to undo all that he has worked for?
1. Foresight

The Price of Salvation by TheAnyKey 

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My name is Renzus, more commonly known as just 'Ren'. Up until about four or five years ago, I lived in the city of Dalaran as a young and promising scholar. I was even starting to learn the Arcane Arts (as my father called it), more commonly known as Magic. Life was going well, and the future seemed bright. Then the War happened, and Dalaran was lost. I left the ruined city to begin lif eanew, as best I could. This is a tale of the events that have transpired since then, to the best of my memory.

**-Siege of Dalaran, 4 years ago-**

The Scourge were tearing through our lines. The Violet Guards, the seemingly invincible protectors of my home city, Dalaran, were falling all around me. The screams and cries of countless mages, wizards, and conjurers alike rang out on the battlefield. Dalaran was doomed. Magic was no use. We never had a chance.

I was seventeen. What was a young scribe such as I to do? Fight? Certainly not, I would have been torn to shreds on the battlefield. I was just a clerk for one of the Archmages on the Kirin'Tor, just beginning to study magic; I was not a powerful mage, by any means. So, what did I do? I fled, ran for my life. I left them to the onslaught of the Scourge. I never heard from my friends or family ever again. From that point forward, I was utterly alone in the world.

Of course, at the time, I had no idea of the actual whereabouts of said friends and family. I ran south. I thought that if I could just reach Southshore, everything would be alright. I would meet up with my family, and we could relocate and begin again. No such luck. I spent the next three weeks waiting for them at Southshore, until the Scourge advanced on that town as well, and I was forced to flee again. I assumed they all were dead.

This time, I fled as far south as I could afford. A few gold pieces later, I found myself in Stormwind. The stronghold of humanity. The people of Stormwind were largely unaffected by the chaos in the North, they only heard the gruesome headlines from the town criers. They understood nothing, but were pleasant and accommodating people nonetheless. I took up residence in a small room above a shop in the Trade District. There I would stay, working as an bookkeeper for the shop located below my room. It was by no means the life of luxury meant for the son of an Archmage, but I was alive. I put the past behind me, and focused on rebuilding my life. I repressed all my memories of magic, of Dalaran, of the War, of everything. With a clean slate, I set forth to become a normal member of society; I traded in my robes for a business suit and a pair of bifocals, and set to work.

I did relatively well for myself in the subsequent years. Having been educated, I found myself good with money, as well as legal matters. I even managed to buy a house in the neighboring town of Goldshire, and moving out of that cramped room. There was still one glaring problem. I was alone, with no friends, contacts, or acquaintances. Not only that, I was a coward to boot. So, in retrospect, I guess there were two glaring problems. I began having nightmares of that fateful day, of my family lying dead, or worse, rising as one of the vile Scourge. I searched desperately for a solution to my problems, but nothing seemed to work. I was in a downward spiral.

Near the end of my third year of residing in Stormwind, I was a mental wreck. I was looking for any way out of the situation I was in. It was then that I saw the recruitment poster. The Civilian Legion! Of course! Stormwind's army was off fighting in distant lands, and the kingdom needed people to fill the ranks at home. What a brilliant idea! I'd not only serve my king, but become a brave, honored and powerful mage, like I was intended to be! I ran to find the nearest recruiting office. I signed up, and put 'Mage' as my preferred profession. The officer at the desk stood up, shook my hand, and even gave me a shiny badge to wear, showing my status as a member of the Legion. I was to report for service in exactly one week...

...I had no idea what I was about to get myself into.

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Thanks for reading! This is my first attempt at a fic, so please bear wih me; all reviews are welcome.


	2. Hindsight

The Price of Salvation by TheAnyKey

Chapter 2: Hindsight

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I'm sitting on my cot in the Stormwind Mages' Quarters, and it's been five years since the day that I signed up for the Civilian Legion. To be more precise, I spent two years in training to be a War Mage, and three years so far in active duty. It doesn't matter how long I've been in the middle of things, though – what matters is, I'm a completely changed man. I am confident in myself now, I can wield magic with skill now, and I've seen my fair share of action, fighting Orcs here, and arresting thieves there – but I find myself yearning for more. Arresting petty thieves and scaring off Orcs from the Forest really doesn't make a big difference in the grand scheme of things.

I keep asking myself the same question: Would the world remember my name if I died tomorrow? Sure, I'd have a funeral with my friends acquaintances attending, but I'd eventually be forgotten, unlike the greats of past generations – Terenas, Wrynn, Lothar, Lightbringer, and the rest…they still lived on in the hearts of the people, to guide those who were still among the living. I doubt that I'd have any such effect on so many people.

Was joining the Legion a step in the right direction? It was. Is it enough? Of course not. Am I capable of more? Of course I am. Then what is the next step?

…

I don't know…

I sit for awhile longer, and mull my thoughts over in my head. I stare at a plate of food that was placed before me sometime ago, and was now cold. It's alright, though, I'm not hungry right now. I hear a sound, suddenly…it sounds like a voice. I see something out of the corner of my eye, and it turns out to be one of my fellow Mages, Achronus, trying to get me to snap out of my trance – I bet he wants something from me…maybe I'd be better off pretending I can't hear him. He comes up to my, finally, and snaps his fingers in front of my face. Great…now I _have_ to acknowledge him.

I look up, and he informs me that the Commander is waiting for me downstairs, in his office. Says it's important. I breathe a little sigh…it's probably another assignment to patrol the Trade District again…some glorious service in His Majesty's Militia. I roll my eyes, and trudge downstairs and into the Commander's office, and close its door behind me. The Commander tells me to take a seat, and withdraws a piece of sealed parchment from his robe. He hands it to me, and I open it. It reads:

_NOTICE OF HONORABLE DISCHARGE FROM SERVICE IN HIS MAJESTY'S MILITARY. EFFECTIVE IMMEDIATELY._

_SUM OF 150 GOLD DEPOSITED INTO STORMWIND BANK ACCOUNT, AS PER THE TERMS OF SERVICE CONTRACT._

_-MARCUS JOHNATHAN, STORMWIND DEFENSE_

The higher-ups have a way of speaking plainly. I'm out of the military, with gold in my bank, free to do as I please. Perhaps now the time is ripe to pursue my dream, to pursue the greatness that I so desire – but there's one problem. I don't know where to start. I bid my Commander a hasty farewell, and walk outside – the air seems alien, now that I am no longer bound to the fate of my kingdom…my fate is now my own.

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That ends chapter two. The story is just picking up, so keep reading/reviewing!


	3. Departure

The Price of Salvation by TheAnyKey

Chapter 3: Departure

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I now find myself sitting outside a small café, in the Trade District. The tea I've been sipping on is especially good – Stormwind Grey Tea is always good this time of year…but then again, so is everything else in this Kingdom of Azeroth, safely tucked away in the South, protected from the fate of the other Kingdoms. Well, I suppose that previous statement isn't entirely accurate…nobody's heard from those shut-ins in Gilneas for over twenty-five years, so perhaps they were spared from the ravages of the Scourge. Perhaps a Gilnean Mage is sitting just like I am right now, sipping tea, and pondering the fate of the world in his home city.

I take another sip from my teacup, and notice a man begging for food across the way…he says he's from Lordaeron, and that he lost everything to the Scourge – his home, his farm, and even his family. Then again, that's what they all say. There were so many refugees, it was hard to tell anymore – but that just made it harder on those who had really lost everything. I feel pity for such people, the ones who really told the truth – they were the types who were poor peasants back in Lordaeron, completely undeserving of the fate which was cruelly thrust upon them. They were robbed of what little they had, and were now reduced to begging in the streets of a foreign city.

Pity isn't enough, so it would seem. The beggars would stay as beggars, so long as the world stays in the sorry state that it's in. What's worse is, nobody is doing a thing to try and change it. The Alliance sends its armies to Kalimdor, to fight the Orcs, when Orcs aren't the ones we should be fighting. Our real enemy is the Lich King, and no heroes exist now to lead us in these dark times, to rally us against our true enemy, and to save the world just one more time. We have to save the world ourselves, and if nobody else is up to it, I'll save the world…or at least I'll try to.

I suppose that the best place to start fighting for truth and justice would be the blighted Northlands. I have the means to get there, thanks to my severance pay. Why shouldn't I go? Even if I decided to turn back and return home some day, I think I'll have learned something from the ordeal…that is, if I didn't wind up getting myself killed. Perhaps I'd even pay a visit to Dalaran, if it was still there.

The Cathedral bell started tolling, and jolted me out of my thoughts. If I was going to leave, I would have to leave soon – the Tram to Ironforge always departed at a quarter after the hour, which would give me roughly five minutes to pack, and ten minutes to sprint to the Dwarven District as fast as I can. I decide that that's the best course of action, and set a silver piece on my table, in payment for that excellent cup of tea – I'll have to come back to have another cup someday.

Packing doesn't take long, as I don't own very much anymore. The house in Goldshire is empty now, and is still up for sale, years after I put it on the market. I guess it's popular nowadays to live an elegant, urban life in Stormwind, rather than raising a farm in Elwynn. I really don't blame anyone for wanting to live in the city, though, it's the largest metropolitan area on the southern continent – not to mention that it's also the capital of cheese. I make a mental note to visit the cheese shop before I leave, that Stormwind Brie is some of the best stuff I've ever tasted.

Some time later, with pack on my back, stave in right hand, sword in sheath, and cheese in left hand, I find myself before one of the greatest technical wonders of the world: the Deeprun Tram. I've only ridden on the Tram once, when I went to Ironforge last year to go mountain climbing in the surrounding Dun Morogh. Khaz Modan is a great place, so long as you don't mind being a little chilly…booze is good enough, as well. It's cheap, too – the Dwarves drink the stuff like it was water.

Anyways, I push my way through the turnstile, and make it just in time. I grab on tight to a railing, and with a great hiss of steam, the Tram is off like a gunshot. I almost fall over, but manage to steady myself. I laugh sheepishly, and am secretly relieved that I'm the only one in my tram car, and avoided being embarrassed. I finally settle down, and unwrap some of my cheese. I break off a piece, and start eating. The tram ride would take about another hour or so, so at least I have time to relax. I doubt that I'd get any such time in the coming days – I'm a bona-fide adventurer now.

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That concludes Chapter 3. Keep reading/reviewing!


	4. Journey

The Price of Salvation by TheAnyKey

Chapter 4 – Journey

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It's been about two weeks since I left Stormwind to go adventuring in the Northlands. I now find myself in the ancestral lands of Arathi, the birthplace of Strom, the first (and mightiest, as the legends say) of the Human kingdoms. Now here I am, thousands of years after the founding, and splitting of the great Human nation, gazing upon the dereliction that has befallen its capital, Stromgarde Keep. The great oak gates are hanging off their hinges, the granite walls crumbling from both siege and disrepair, and the very streets crawling with criminals and Ogres. The red banners that bear the seal of the kingdom lie strewn on the ground, like so many forgotten memories. Yet, there seems to be a sliver of hope for this nation – the citizens have mobilized to form a militia, and have retaken almost half of their beloved city. Perhaps the nation of Stromgarde will yet live, and see brighter days in the future.

Some militia cavalrymen ride by the spot where I am standing, and I salute them. They smile at me, and salute back. It's nice to know that the Human spirit hasn't been dampened, even during a crisis such as this. I think for a moment that I would like to fight alongside them, but I realize that I don't belong here. They have unity, and the will to fight – they don't need my help. My place lies further north, in Dalaran, amongst my true countrymen – or whatever was left of them. It would be there, and only there, that I would find my own purpose to fight for.

I have a sense of curiosity in regards to my homeland, and what fate has befallen it since I left it. I've learned that the Citadel itself is sealed off from all outside contact, while a number of Mages stay outside the Citadel to ward off the encroaching Undead. I imagine that I would be conscripted to fight them off, and I would do so with pride, if it meant having my homeland back – I would bear any burden, and pay any price for that ultimate goal…the salvation of my past and future, and perhaps a sense of closure.

I'm daydreaming again, and fail to notice a figure crouching in the shade of a tree behind me. It starts creeping towards me, slowly. I hear a twig snap behind me, and turn around to find this shadowy figure – a man, not much older than I am, holding a knife in his hand. No doubt that he's one of the thugs that infest this city – a member of a crime organization called the Syndicate, judging by the tattoo he bears on his right forearm. He stops in his tracks, and doesn't say a thing…he's sizing me up, seeing if it's worth it to try and kill me. He squints his eyes at me, and continues his slow advance, brandishing his blade. Obviously, he doesn't think I look like much of a challenge, what with me wearing a simple Magus robe, and nothing more. I know better, though – I know he's woefully mistaken.

I don't say a thing. Nothing I could say would deter this man from his attack. If he wants a fight, he'll get one – I ready a fire spell in my head. He runs towards me, but I'm quicker to the draw, and hold my hand out. He keeps running, unaware that he's about to experience the agony of a fireball spell. He's still coming towards me, as fast as he can – he's about five feet away now. I let the spell loose, as he's swinging his blade up to strike me. I hit him at point-blank range, and knock him back with the force of the spell.

The thug shrieks in agony, as he is promptly set ablaze, being consumed by a fire with the heat of a thousand suns. He falls to his knees, screaming at the top of his lungs. I merely stand there, and watch the poor soul burn to death. I think back to a quote from an old professor of mine, it went something like, "Never meddle in the affairs of a Mage, for they are subtle, and quick to anger." I repeat the same quote to the charred husk of the man, as he lay dying. His face contorts in anger, and he tries to say something – he dies before he can say it, however. I resist the urge to spit on his corpse, and walk away.

Now I'm back on the main trail, and find myself heading towards the Hillsbrad Foothills. The Great Wall of Thoradin looms in the distance, marking the boundary of this nation's territory. It too, like the capital city, is crumbling from years of siege and disrepair. Yet again, like with the capital, I am confident that it will see brighter days in the future.

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That ends chapter 4. I used some quotes from other places in here, see if you can find them. ;)


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